


So What's It Feel Like To Be A Ghost?

by ReaperShadCat



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Body Horror, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-10
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:44:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperShadCat/pseuds/ReaperShadCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had been the stronger of the two of them, he had overcome all odds, and in the end he had reaped the rewards. It had been checkmate. He had been a simple pawn, and now he was king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So What's It Feel Like To Be A Ghost?

There was a scream that seemed to shred the very air apart around him into static. Tendrils of heat shot past him, light curling and ricocheting off of the stone walls, pooling into the patterns that decorated the solid slabs.

At first, he was excited. He had won. He had been the stronger of the two of them, he had overcome all odds, and in the end he had reaped the rewards. It had been checkmate. He had been a simple pawn, and now he was king.

But the shapes on the walls were too bright, too sharp, and he couldn't close his eyes, couldn't raise his arms  to shield his face, and he could feel his eyes begin to sear. It felt like knives, like daggers and shears of light tearing into his mind, and he yelled, screaming, clawing at his face in a futile attempt to remove the bright and twisting spears that had wound themselves through his face and chest and plunged themselves into the very core of his being, ripping the seams and tearing his ribs and spilling static and soul and... blood.

There was blood everywhere. Blood mixed with the shimmering and sharp shards of sound and soul and being that he realized was the same as what had poured from noise as they disappeared into oblivion. He watched as his skin and flesh and blood and bone was flayed from him by the light, razors of raw energy shattering him to pieces.

The tendrils stabbed straight through the hollow that was once his chest and constricted around the black base of his wings and...

Tore.

There was no sound that he could make able to express the agony he felt as the skeletal black frames were ripped from him and faded into the mass of heat and static that shot through him, around him, into him, even though he was sure there was nothing anymore, sure that flesh and blood and breath had been lost from him. He was nothing more than soul now, with nothing but blistering pain holding all the pieces together.

And then he let go. 

 Soul overflowed into the streets. Rolling, soft waves flooded every inch of the city, covering it in a thin ether, binding with the pavement, sinking into the asphalt and the concrete and into the flesh and soul and being that was the city, and it collapsed in on itself and folded and compressed tenfold, thousandfold, as it warped and twisted and balled into lungs that held the wind and eyes that reflected the sun, pushing into the shape of a chest, of arms legs and a mouth, and finally it allowed a cry of pain. He collapsed on the new set of legs, not quite muscle and not quite light, both in existence and not, his eyes opening once more to see the stone around him solid and inanimate, standing still and simple as if from the sigils of those walls and pillars a young man had not just been reborn a city.

The Composer's breath evened out. He raised himself from atop the skull-shaped sigil, the converging point at which he was destroyed and rebuilt, and took tentative steps towards the cold, freshly-emptied throne that beckoned his name. It was a part of him now, as everything that lay within the walls of the city was, and he stretched his new limbs and spread his new wings, great white shimmering swathes of light that stretched into a plane that he had never before been able to touch, a plane that now he walked upon.

His mind wrapped around the city and stilled, and he closed his eyes and shrugged down into the cold throne of Shibuya, sighing.

He remembered a lost and confused boy who sat in a near-vacant coffee shop and watched the Game play out before him. He remembered sadness and fear and regret, remembered waking up in the street, remembered the hatred that seemed to exude from the skyscraper walls as the Reapers and the Noise opposed him.

But that was then and this was now, and at last, at long last, he was here.

He was dead, and he was Death, and he had never felt so alive.

Mother and Father had called him Joshua. 

Joshua was dead.

The god of Shibuya was alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy runon sentences, Batman! Anyways, I do hope you enjoyed this, as it is my first time writing any real TWEWY Fanfiction.


End file.
